Atta Boy
by slashbutterfly
Summary: A little something inspired by "Iced". Tibbs. Angsty hurt/comfort stuff, very minor slash hints and friendship. See inside for more info.


(A/N: Just a little something inspired by the bit of the season 3 episode "Iced" that I saw recently; it's set somewhere around there. Bear it in mind that I haven't seen the whole episode, or the following/preceding ones, so my knowledge of the timeframe's more than a little hazy. And it's very OOC anyways, so please bear with me, or don't read it if that's not your thing.

Oh, and I should apologise now for this story containing the main features of all my angsty ones: a) sighing, b) sleeping and c) crying. It must get very repetitive, so sorry!)

Atta Boy

Tony sat in his car at the end of the day. He knew he should be making a move; he'd been out there for hours. But somehow, the thought of home did not appeal. Just another night alone… He shook his head. Despite what his colleagues might think, he was very used to his own company, and far less of a Don Juan than he sometimes made out. It was nice to dream, sometimes, and to fool other people. He'd always thought that if everyone else believed it, maybe he would, too. So far it wasn't working. And whatever his skills with women, it didn't change the fact that he was Anthony DiNozzo, cocky, arrogant chauvinist on the outside, and insecure, crumbling wreck on the inside.

He sighed. Time to get going. He supposed that it didn't matter where, so much, but sitting in an empty parking lot all night was going to do nothing for his self-esteem, not to mention his temper the next day at work. Turning the ignition key, his mind began to wander again as he drove out onto the road.

It was only after he'd turned left at the third junction in a row that he began to realise that, subconsciously or not, he was actually going somewhere, and that place was not home. Well, it was to someone; just not his home. But he was almost there now, and God, did he need company. He'd just have to hope that his unsuspecting host was in a good mood for once.

He found him in the basement as usual, intent on the curved wooden structure in front of him. Taking a seat, Tony waited patiently. As always, he soon heard the gruff tones.

"Been having nightmares again?"

This was not what he'd expected. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't have expected any less from Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know that?"

Gibbs shrugged, putting down his hammer and picking up a vicious-looking chisel.

"You tell Abs, she tells Ducky, he tells me. Don't look so surprised. They mean well." Suddenly he downed tools and looked right at Tony, leaning on the framework of the boat as he did so.

"You need to get some sleep, DiNozzo. There's a blanket in that cupboard." He gestured towards it, then to a patch of floor almost clear of sawdust. "Good place right there. I'll be here if you need me."

And with that, he turned back to his work as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Perhaps, Tony mused, as he made up a makeshift bed on the concrete floor, it didn't seem so strange to Gibbs. After all, he always looked out for his team. He obviously saw it as an extension of his duties. Trying to ignore the part of him that was fervently wishing it was a little more than that, he lay down. Though the floor was cold and uncomfortably hard, it was not long before he was asleep, and so he missed the fond smile on his boss' face, and the murmur of "Goodnight."

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He was woken suddenly some time later by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Sitting bolt upright, he snapped open his eyes to see Gibbs right in front of him, looking concerned. It was only then that he felt the cold film of sweat on his skin, and remembered with a sinking heart the images that had been intruding on his sleep just moments before. Not knowing where to look or what to do, he buried his head in his hands, trying to get rid of the all-too-vivid pictures in his brain. Unbidden, another scene drifted into his mind, one from a lot more recently – their last case or two, in fact. Gibbs unexpectedly stroking his hair, and the gentle "Atta boy" that followed. He could remember clearly the feel of that hand on the back of his head, comforting without a word; so clearly he could almost feel it.

It took him a few moments to realise that he wasn't imagining it. Raising his head slightly, he looked up into the blue eyes so close to his own.

"Gibbs?"

He had expected him to draw away, return to his work. But he did not; didn't falter for a second, didn't break his gaze.

"Told you I'd be here. You were all over the place, Tony. Shouting, moaning, thrashing around. Needed looking after."

The unspoken words that Gibbs was the one looking after him confused Tony, so he did not at first register the use, not of his surname, but of his Christian name. And all the while that hand ran through his hair, gently, calmingly.

Only when he felt a thumb on his cheek did he realise that he was crying softly. Closing his eyes, he tried his hardest to force them to stop, but they would not; and so his kept his eyes shut, not wanting to look at the one person he most needed to hide this weakness from.

"Dreaming about Kate?"

God, the man was good. He nodded, still not daring to look up.

"Did I say her name? When I was asleep, I mean?"

He felt, rather than saw, the shake of the head.

"Nope."

A finger under his chin, forcing it upwards, forcing him to look into those eyes again.

"I dream about her too, Tony. All the time. Just don't show it. But it's not your fault. Remember that."

Suddenly he was crying for real, great big racking sobs that shook his whole body. Through his outburst of emotion he felt Gibbs' arms around him, holding him, strong and comforting. Then he knew that he didn't need to say anything, not yet. Gibbs would wait.

And wait he did, until the cries filling the basement quietened to snuffles, and the younger man could speak uninterrupted. Reluctantly, he drew back from Gibbs' hold, regretting the loss of the warmth and security it offered. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he stared at the floor, trying to find the words to explain himself.

"I'm – I'm sorry. Didn't mean for that to happen. Not like me." He attempted a half-grin, but it felt forced, and he knew full well that it would not fool Gibbs for a second. "Just… I miss her. And I know we didn't have the most professional relationship, but we were close!"

Catching Gibbs' intake of breath, he shook his head hastily. "Not like that, Boss. Never like that. But… I could talk to her, you know? And now…" He trailed off, still shaking his head. "I talk to Abby, sometimes, but it's not the same. She misses her too, and she doesn't need my crap. She's hurting enough as it is. Just better at hiding it than me, that's all."

Feeling movement, he looked up as the older man produced a large handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. As he reached for it, their hands touched momentarily, and he smiled without knowing quite why. "Thanks, Boss."  
Looking up at him now, he could see something in those eyes – amusement, regret, an internal conflict of emotions. Very carefully he reached up and touched Gibbs' cheek, feeling the barely noticeable grate of stubble and the careworn skin underneath. "Thankyou." He repeated himself under his breath, not meaning for the other man to hear. Knowing him as he did, he suspected that this would not be the case, however hard he tried. So he wiped his eyes with the proffered handkerchief, once again avoiding those piercing blue eyes.

There was a long pause. Both men were more than a little confused about the night's events; both were wondering what on earth was going to happen next. As the silence became intolerable, Tony raised his head.

"Seems to me we'd both better be getting some sleep. Looks like you need it too." In their new-found… whatever it was, he had no qualms about reaching out to touch the bags under Gibbs' eyes. "Coffee's not going to get rid of those. And I'm cold." He got up and fetched another blanket. Tossing it to Gibbs, he smiled tentatively, wishing his heart would stop pounding at the thought of spending the night quite so close to the man. Trying to hide his fear and excitement, he lay down, curled up inside the blanket with his back to Gibbs. "Night, Boss."

He listened intently, wanting more than anything to turn and see the maelstrom of emotions he was sure would be on Gibbs' face. But he did not, and instead listened to the rustling as the other man made himself comfortable for the night, feeling their backs pressed together as if for reassurance of having someone else there.

Eventually, as he was drifting in and out of a light doze, he became aware that something in their positions has changed. Gibbs had rolled over in his sleep, and through the thick cloth between them he could feel his chest pressed up against his back. He smiled at this unintentional contact, and settled in to get a good night's sleep for the first time in weeks.

(A/N: There's rather less slash in this than I originally intended… it's more friendship than anything else. As always, opinions are highly valued – I'd like some feedback on the relative merits of leaving it as a one-shot or continuing it and seeing where it goes. Anyone got any thoughts?)


End file.
